


dr. lecter: literally

by skywalkerz



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, Sassy Will Graham, Sickfic, hannibal fandom: would you like another sickfic :), hannibal is whipped pt 3???, no one :
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25160071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywalkerz/pseuds/skywalkerz
Summary: "Don't you dare come at me with that fucking chicken noodle soup or I swear to God himself I will throw it on your dress shirt." Sneeze, followed by a weak and pathetic cough.Or:Will is sick. Will is determined to do anything so Hannibal won't take care of him.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 291





	dr. lecter: literally

"Don't you dare come at me with that fucking chicken noodle soup or I swear to God himself I will throw it on your dress shirt." _Sneeze_ , followed by a weak and pathetic cough.

Will can literally hear Hannibal rolling his eyes, as he cocoons himself up in their shared comforter, Will's face practically smashed into the pillow, eyes closed in a desperation to melt away into the bed and be freed from his fever. 

"Will, you must not let your pride become a wall. If you don't consume something soon, you are going to feel worse." Hannibal gently sits on the edge of the bed, Will's back facing him. He lets a hand meet Will's blanket-clad shoulder, squeezing softly. 

"Ah, is that what they teach you in medical school? Eat chicken soup or rot to death in your bed?" Will spits back, his head pounding at his own voice, throbbing with each syllable. 

He hears Hannibal sigh. Will imagines him pursing his lips together, maybe rubbing a hand over his tired face. 

He knows Hannibal sets the bowl of soup and spoon on the bedside table. The weight on the opposite side of the bed shifts, leaving Will. 

"Do get some rest, darling." Hannibal says. He sounds kind of irked, but nevertheless, his voice is soaked in adoration. 

* * *

"This seems...counter-intuitive." Hannibal's voice echos the room as Will sits perched on a stool next to the kitchen island. He still has a small blanket wrapped around his frame, clutching it like it's his lifeline. 

"I am sitting at the island because it's dinner-time and I -" Will coughs; Will coughs for a damn long time, entire body heaving and writhing. He grips his chest pathetically, attempting to catch his breath. Hannibal is perplexed, deciding whether he should feel smug or concerned. 

"And I always sit at the island when you make dinner." Will finishes roughly, his voice basically obliterated. Hannibal has stepped forward, using his palm to push up Will's curls and feel his forehead. Will lets it happen momentarily, before he is swatting the hand away. 

"Such a child," Hannibal clicks his tongue, exasperated with Will. He rummages through a cabinet, one of the higher ones, pulling down what could only be tea. 

"You may remain in the kitchen under one condition," Hannibal turns to Will, who is now hunched over the island, trying his best to not throw up nor pass out onto the floor. 

"Oh, yeah? What?" And Will's voice is so robotic it's almost comedic. 

"You drink this tea. Peppermint, to be exact, with lemon and honey - lemon and honey contain high amounts of vitamin C, while peppermint can assist in nausea..." 

"God, fuck, I'll drink the tea if you stop talking." Will whips his head up, immediately regretting it. His hand flies to his temple, rubbing soothingly. 

"Very well." Hannibal finishes, smiling smugly, and god, Will would love to strike it off of his face. 

Hannibal makes the tea, starts dinner, and Will is half-asleep as he sips the beverage with the small amount of strength he has left.

He falls asleep at the island before dinner is prepared, cheek smashed into the marble counter-top, mug abandoned next to him. 

Hannibal takes the opportunity to place a cool towel on Will's sweaty and flushed forehead, and thanks the Heavens he doesn't stir.

* * *

When Will wakes up, it's with a startle. Hannibal is cleaning up; he must have eaten alone, (not that Will would have bothered trying to consume anything), and started dishes, and Will stayed sound asleep the entire time. 

"How long was I asleep?" He questions anyways.

"Perhaps 45 minutes, maybe a little less." Hannibal says, back turned to Will as he scrubs a plate. 

The throbbing of his head persists, and Will fights back a groan, knowing very well Hannibal will pipe in his two cents at the first chance he can. Will clutches the blanket around him tighter. There is no chance of him getting warm, apparently. 

Hannibal doesn't wait for Will to reply: "Will, I think it would be in your best interest -"

"Would you quit it?" Will snaps, although it doesn't come out malicious, as much as it does weak and exhausted. "All you do is cook for me, clean up after me, take care of my dogs half of the time, wash my clothes - "

"I never mind doing any of those things, Will. You know this." Hannibal's turned around, leaning against the sink. And Will notices Hannibal's own under-eye bags, the exhaustion etched on his face, simply from worrying over stubborn Will. 

"It doesn't matter!" Will croaks out. "Let me take care of myself, I can manage this shit just fine -" And Will cuts himself off, becoming very self-aware of how shitty he feels. He leaps off of the stool, blanket falling off his shoulders, as he takes two long strides to the sink, heaving into it. 

Hannibal is already utilizing one hand to sweep back Will's damp curls and using his other hand to stroke his back soothingly. The sensation is quite calming, and Will lets himself marvel in the touch as best as he can, gagging and retching continuously. 

After a moment, he spits a final time into the sink, groaning. Hannibal is still weaving his fingers through the curls, scratching lightly against Will's scalp. 

"Go lie down, mylimasis. Please." Hannibal asks, so gently, so compassionately, Will swears it's going to give him a cavity. 

Hannibal retrieves the abandoned blanket on the floor, and wraps it around Will, who is still clutching the sink.

When the blanket falls around him, he can feel his shoulders dropping, releasing all the tension and stress his body has retained. 

Will retreats to the couch in the den, dropping onto it almost face first. He hears footsteps, and knows Hannibal is coming to make more of a fuss over him. He lets himself squint his eyes open, and notes Hannibal placing a waste bin next to the couch. Hannibal has wet the cloth again and pushes away Will's curls yet again to place the rag on his red forehead.

"Nnng- stop." Will protests faintly. 

"Sleep, Will." Lips to his cheekbone, and then Will is dozing off. 

* * *

When Will wakes up again, it's to nightmares, his heart pounding almost painfully out of his chest, forehead dripping in sweat as the rag falls onto his lap. He's sputtering and coughing as he awakens, head throbbing throughout the whole ordeal. 

Hannibal's by his side so quickly, Will aches to even know how it's possible. Hands are cupping his face, securely and close. It could almost make Will feel claustrophobic, but right now, he needs it. Will can feel the familiar lump in his throat as he heaves for fresh air. 

"It's alright, Will. You've had a nightmare. You are home, with me. Safe. Look at me, Will." And Will does.

He feels his chest settle, the wild thoughts bounding in his mind seem to simmer down. His pulse quiets. Eventually, he's only letting out meek whimpers as his head continues to ache, dull and prominent. 

"Lay - lay with me. Please." Will asks, nearly out of breath. 

"Come on, then. Not here. Up." Hannibal instructs, delicately. He places his arms on Will's waist, hoisting him up with some of Will's help. Will's balance is sketchy, so Hannibal holds one of his hands, his other arm wraps securely around Will's waist. 

He's able to efficiently lead Will to the master bedroom. He hands Will a dry, clean shirt and pajama bottoms and Will manages to change without falling asleep sitting up. 

"Will, I really do have to recommend -" Hannibal begins but Will is already getting underneath the covers, shimmying his way down, the blanket tucked up right to his chin,

"Hannibal, please. Right now, no medicine, no weird herbal teas, no cool rags all over my body. Will you please just come here and - and hold me? Please." Will hates how he sounds, so needy and childish, so absolutely incapable of taking care of himself as a nearly 40 year-old man. 

"Alright." Hannibal gives in, stripping off his own dress clothes. He gently gets into bed on the other side, maneuvering himself so his chest is flush against Will's spine. Will is turning immediately, face to face with Hannibal. He attaches himself, drawn like a moth to a light, limbs wrapped soundly around Hannibal's middle. Will lets his face find the soft spot of Hannibal's neck, right under his chin. It is automatic how Hannibal's hands come to caress Will's back, up his neck, into his hair. 

"Tomorrow, you'd find it better to be a little less stubborn, darling." Hannibal murmurs, clearly amused. Will just buries his face a little deeper, grips Hannibal waist a little tighter. Hannibal can feel the immense heat of Will, can feel the sweat already starting to coat his body, can hear Will's congested sniffs here and there. 

If Will wants to be a little stubborn tomorrow, well, he'd delight it in, anyways. 

**Author's Note:**

> the hannibal fandom really said how many sickfics can we write............i hate us dsjjfds


End file.
